The streets were silent.
Only the sharp rhythm of marching boots echoed through the burning haze as Arin Falk stepped onto the Central Square's obsidian platform. Below him, seven hundred slaves stood in perfect lines—barefoot, heads down, numbers burned into their skin.
Drone cameras hovered in the air, streaming the event live across the Dominion Network. Viewers from all over the world tuned in, eager to witness another public discipline orchestrated by the fastest-rising Master in the Eastern Hemisphere.
Arin's voice, calm and clear, cut through the air like a blade:
> "Welcome to the first Ash Parade.
Today, obedience is currency. Pain is payment. And humiliation… is glory."
He raised his hand. The crowd of slaves flinched.
A single gesture, and the first group—Section A-12—stepped forward. These were the defiant ones. Or they had been, once.
Sable's voice chimed into his earpiece.
> "Recording live metrics. 2.4 million viewers and climbing. You're trending across all six global streams. Master Tier-IIs are observing."
"Good," Arin muttered. "Let them learn."
He activated a Behavior Loop. From the stage, neural pulses fired into the slave collars, forcing the captives to walk, kneel, and grovel in a synchronized cycle. The spectacle was hypnotic—hundreds of broken humans moving like puppets, stripped of free will.
Then came the Punishment Showcase.
A massive screen behind Arin flickered on, revealing a chart: names, crimes, and point values. Each punishment delivered was scored in real-time. Efficiency, creativity, and crowd engagement all factored in.
He began with Target #4 —a man who'd tried to speak Mandarin in public.
> "Language is identity," Arin said to the camera.
"Strip it, and what's left?"
He ordered the man's tongue branded with a global symbol of silence. The audience roared with approval.
+45 points.
Then Target #11 —a woman who had dared to cry.
> "Emotion belongs to the free.
You are not."
He instructed her to sing her national anthem while standing in a pool of ash from a burned flag. Every missed note earned her a lash.
+70 points.
One by one, the punishments escalated—some psychological, some surgical. But each calculated.
By the end of the parade, Arin had amassed 1,820 Master Points in one afternoon. His name blinked on the Scoreboard of Tyrants:
New Rank: Master Tier-II.
Standing: #2 in Eastern Quadrant.
He didn't smile. Not yet.
Back in his chambers that evening, Sable appeared as a hologram—feminine, dark-eyed, and emotionless.
> "You are the youngest to ever breach Tier-II.
The system is adjusting.
New modules unlocked."
He scanned the new rewards:
Mass Identity Erasure Tool
VR Torture Showcase Broadcast License
Slave Reconditioning Labs – Blueprint Tier 1
"Load everything," he ordered. "And begin construction on the first Reconditioning Lab outside Beijing Ruins."
> "Understood. Estimated completion: 48 hours."
Arin removed his coat, now stained with ash and blood. He stood before the mirror again, not out of vanity, but verification.
He still looked human.
That was the last thing he wanted.
He stared hard into his own eyes.
> "Next time, I want them begging for extinction."
Outside, the drones continued circling above the city—broadcasting his reign, one broken soul at a time.